The Proud Viscount (10 page)

Rossmere rode as he did every day when he gave Ascot his head, hunched slightly forward with heels at the ready. He didn’t play his whip as the other riders did. By voice and hands alone he appeared to urge his horse to lengthen his stride. As they gained ground on the field, the viscount kept Ascot well to the outside of the other horses, an obvious attempt to avoid any untoward incidents. It was a boisterous field, however, and the riders who had already determined that they had no chance of winning were not averse to disrupting the proceedings.

When Ascot came up on the outside of the field, the last horse drifted over into his path, his rider waving his whip wildly in the air and yelling heartily. Rossmere simply let Ascot intimidate both horse and rider by thundering right up on them. Jane watched as the horse was jerked back to the side, presenting no problem for the passing Ascot. She realized, though, that Rossmere had started from a great disadvantage and it seemed next to impossible that Ascot would be so much faster than the others that he could overcome this handicap.

The course of the race was mainly within sight of the spectators, because the crowd stood on a slight rise. The horses passed over a wide stretch of turf, through a small wood, over a rise where they were lost from view for only a few minutes before the leading horses were jumping a stream and winding around a fenced field and along a thorny hedgerow. Jane watched with mounting excitement as Ascot surged forward, jumping the stream with ease.

The huge black beast passed horse after horse. Jane could feel her heart pounding painfully in her chest. Her clammy hands were bunched at her sides, and her lips tightly pressed together so she wouldn’t call out anything unsuitable. One swift glance assured her that Mrs. Fulton was just as much involved in the spectacle before them, and a lot less restrained.

When there were only two horses still in front of him, and one directly beside him, Ascot seemed to stumble. To Jane’s astonishment, Rossmere grabbed the whip from the rider beside him and tossed it away into some gorse bushes.

“Did you see that?” a man at her elbow exclaimed. “Ned Sommers tried to trip that other horse with his whip. I’ll be damned. And that black-haired fella just flips his whip out of the way. There’s a downy one for you."

Ned Sommers and his horse quickly fell back as Ascot once again pounded onward. A brown filly and the black colt were running almost neck and neck. There was only a matter of a dozen or so yards left to the finish line. Rossmere used his whip now, once, to spur Ascot to an even more determined effort. Jane was astonished to see that there was still strength left in the magnificent animal. Ascot drew abreast of the other two horses.

The finish line loomed before them. Jane noticed that an astonished hush had fallen over the crowd. In the relative silence she heard Rossmere’s voice calling “Now!” and watched as Ascot pulled ahead the few necessary inches to win the race. She never knew which of the horses came in second. It didn’t seem to matter.

A shiver ran down her spine as a great cry went up, until she realized that it was a spontaneous expression of admiration rather than disappointment that one of the local favorites hadn’t won the race. Jane saw Mrs. Fulton dancing about in a most undignified way—and wished that she were able to do precisely the same thing.

“Well, that was tremendously exciting,” Jane’s companion said, "but we’d best get back to the jam judging or we’ll never finish.”

Jane wanted to stay where she was and see what happened next, but she allowed Miss Caruthers to lead her off. All sorts of uncomfortable sensations continued to rage in her, not the least of which was a decided jealousy that Mrs. Fulton was going to be there to greet Rossmere and she wasn’t. Well, not jealousy, perhaps, but certainly envy, Jane amended mentally. In order for her to be jealous, she would have to have some special interest in Rossmere. Which she did not.

When the exhausting job of judging was finished and they had awarded the ribbons for prizes, Jane found Rossmere standing outside the booth waiting for her. His head was cocked to one side, as though he expected some remark from her on his performance. Jane felt tongue-tied. Nothing she could think of to say was appropriate: not scolding him for entering the race with Ascot, or keeping one of the local people from winning the money, or even praising him for winning, since it seemed disloyal to Richard, somehow. She had realized as she watched the viscount ride that he handled the horse even better than Richard had.

“You’ve had an exciting day,” she finally murmured. “Willow End will seem a little flat after this, I fear.”

His brows lifted. “Is that all you have to say about the race, Lady Jane? I expected a great deal more from you. Don’t tell me you have subjects that you won’t discuss,” he teased.

“Very few,” she assured him. “You rode very well and Ascot was quite remarkable. Will that do?”

“It will have to, won’t it?” He guided her through the crowds toward her carriage. “Did you know that he’d sired both the horses he triumphed over in the end?”

Jane regarded him sharply. “So I heard. They’re both rather better-behaved than Ascot.”

“You can’t expect a prime goer to be tame, my dear. Ascot has more heart than the average. He’s extraordinarily spirited, in fact.” He stopped suddenly, drawing her to a standstill beside him. “This has something to do with Richard, doesn’t it? Do you think I dishonored his memory by riding his horse in a country race? If you do, you’re right out, you know. He had always intended to race Ascot, if he could find the proper rider.”

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t known that. Of course Richard had had dreams she knew nothing about. That was always the case, no matter how close two people were. But she could feel a stinging at her eyes. Ridiculous! Where was her lauded self-control, her remarkable calm? And why did Rossmere have this wretched effect on her?

“I wish you will let go of my arm,” she said stiffly.

His fingers instantly released their urgent grip. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Jane. I meant no disrespect.”

“Of course not,” she agreed with a forced smile, intent on relieving the charged situation. His dark eyes remained fast on her face. There was something in them that made her breath halt momentarily, her hands twist at her sides. “I’ve had an exhausting day,” she forced herself to say casually. “Barnes will be waiting to drive me home.”

“He is. That’s where I’m taking you.”

Jane absently brushed down her skirts and followed him past the stalls wafting aromas of sweets and savories. Her stomach rebelled after the constant tasting of jams, but she would have loved a cup of tea and a piece of bread and butter. It seemed too difficult to pluck at his sleeve now and ask him to stop, so she hurried after his solid, splendid figure as he cleared a path for her.

When they reached the carriage, she found that a pot of hot tea and a plate of warm bread spread with butter was laid out for her. She blinked in surprise. There was a book, too, laid out on the seat. Her hand instinctively went out to it.

“I thought you might wish a quick refreshment before we headed back,” Rossmere explained, his voice roughened by irritation. “If you shouldn’t like it, we can quickly clear it away.”

“How very thoughtful of you! I can’t think of anything I’d like more at the moment.” She glanced at the book and raised her brows in query. “Where did this come from, my lord?”

“It’s a book I found at the fair and thought you might enjoy. You’ve mentioned Bath a number of times. Perhaps you already have it.”

“No, not this one. Thank you so much.” She seated herself on the comfortable squabs and patted the spot beside her. “Come and join me, Lord Rossmere.”

"Thank you, but only for a moment. If I don’t claim Ascot from the urchin I’ve allowed to hold him, I may never see the horse again.” He accepted a cup of tea and asked her about the judging of jams and jellies.

“It very nearly kills my taste for such things from one year’s fair to the next,” she admitted. “There was nothing much out of the ordinary today, though Mrs. Hotchkiss’s apricot jam was particularly good and we found mold in one of the raspberry jellies.”

“And you do this every year?”

Jane hastily covered a yawn so extravagant that it threatened to dislocate her jaw. How tired she was! The tea would undoubtedly revive her; in the meantime she forced her tired eyes wider open. “Every year, yes. It’s expected of me. Oh, and did I tell you the tenants at Graywood have given me notice that they’re leaving? If I’d known just a little sooner, I’d have made a point of seeing several people at the fair. There are always certain families who seem to know who's looking for a place, at any given time. But never mind. I can take care of that later.”

Rossmere studied the forced brightness of her face and set down his empty cup. “I’d best rescue Ascot. I’ll see you back at Willow End.”

Jane nodded and watched him move away. “Thank you so much for the book,” she called. “It was very kind of you.”

* * * *

Since she didn’t see Rossmere on the road, Jane felt certain he had preceded them the whole way. As her carriage swung up the drive to Willow End, Jane was surprised to see John Parnham just climbing out of his landau in front of the entry stairs. There was no sign of Nancy, and certainly neither of them was expected. A current of alarm ran through her. She could barely wait for her own carriage to draw to a stop before pushing open the door and jumping to the ground.

Parnham had waited on the stairs for her, a worried look on his face. “You’ve been out, then,” he said, “and won’t know if Nancy really did come here.”

“I wasn’t expecting her,” Jane replied. “I’ve been at the fair all day.”

“Ah, yes, the Littleton fair. Nancy had mentioned how much she enjoyed it as a child. Perhaps that’s why…”

“Why what?”

He appeared slightly embarrassed. “Why she insisted on coming here today. I was out, and when I returned to the hall, they told me she’d taken the old carriage and headed for Willow End. I couldn’t imagine why.”

Jane had the sinking feeling that she was being drawn into one of the distortions Parnham had recounted on his previous visit. Without bothering to reply to his last comment, she hastened up the stairs and through the door Winters already held open. “Is Lady Nancy here?” she asked.

“Yes, my lady. In your sitting room.” The old man wore a puzzled frown. “She seemed to be under some misapprehension as to your health.”

“My health?”

“She thought you were suffering from a severe indisposition.”

There was a grunt from behind her, as if Parnham had heard this and was trying to stifle his disbelief. She refused to honor his act with any attention. “I shall go straight up to her. Has a room been prepared?”

“The usual one, milady, nearest the nursery.”

“Thank you. See that Mr. Parnham is taken care of, won’t you?” She started up the stairs, but turned to ask, “Has Lord Rossmere returned?”

“Not as yet.”

Where the devil could he have gotten himself to? she wondered. There wasn’t time to give any thought to the matter, though, as she was most concerned about her sister. She found Nancy seated at the window, staring out over the lawns shadowed in the late-afternoon sunlight. Nancy raised her eyes to Jane’s face, a wary look tightening her usually soft face.

Jane sat down opposite her sister and grasped her hands. “John has arrived and says you came here without his knowledge. I’m not swayed by what he says. Just tell me how you think it was, what you know has happened.”

Nancy shivered. “I was in the garden, cutting flowers. John came out to me, hurrying as if something were the matter. I thought immediately of William. But he said there had been a messenger from Willow End, that you were very ill and wished me to come to you. John said that I should go ahead, with William, and that he would follow when his more-pressing appointments were taken care of. When I got here, I found that you were not only not ill, but not here at all. I’ve been sitting here all afternoon. I don’t know what to do, Jane.” Her voice trembled. “This isn’t the first time this sort of thing has happened.”

“In what way do you mean that? Do you feel there is something the matter with you, or that John is playing some kind of trick?”

“I’m not aware of anything being wrong with me, but...“ Nancy stopped and turned her hands over in a helpless gesture. “What possible reason could there be for him to play a trick? He’s so certain that he’s right, I begin to doubt my own senses."

“Don’t do that, I beg you!” Jane pressed her sister’s cold hands. “Let me tell you what he told Father the last time you were here.”

She related the incidents Parnham had enumerated, watching Nancy’s face carefully for signs of disturbance. Long before she had finished, Nancy was simply shaking her head and muttering, “No, no.”

“Did those things not happen?” Jane asked when she had finished.

“Only two of them. You remember my laughing about thinking William’s hands were on backward. And there was an invitation from our neighbors. I swear it, Jane. I saw it with my own eyes. But then, it seems there wasn’t.”

“I’m sure there was,” Jane said with firm conviction. “Don’t let yourself doubt it, my love. There’s something happening here that we can’t understand, and I think it would be wise not to make matters worse by insisting that your husband is wrong. Will you trust me in this?”

Nancy drew a long, shaking breath. “Absolutely. I know you want only what’s best for me. You always have.”

“We’ll go downstairs and speak with John. I think it would be a mistake to avoid him. You will say only that there was a misunderstanding. Don’t accuse him of anything. Don’t be pushed into an admission that you were wrong. Meet every objection with a smile and your acceptance that there has been a misunderstanding. Can you do that?”

“I think so.” Nancy held her sister’s hand against her flushed cheek. “You do believe me, don’t you?”

“Yes, I believe you.”

* * * *

Rossmere had returned with very little time left to change for dinner. It was not until he joined Lady Mabel, Lord Barlow, and Lady Jane in the gold drawing room that he realized there was additional company. There was also a very strained atmosphere in the room. The lines on Lord Barlow’s face seemed more deeply etched than usual, and Rossmere’s godmother was fluttering about in a rather aimless way, attempting to smooth matters out.